s tongue was
slowly dropping with blood; and the sunken eyes! but I can't speak of
them, the sight was too dreadful! It was a chestnut horse with a long,
thin neck. I saw a white streak down the forehead. I believe it was
Ginger; I hoped it was, for then her troubles would be over. Oh! if men
were more merciful, they would shoot us before we came to such misery.

CHAPTER XV

At a sale I found myself in company with a lot of horses--some lame,
some broken-winded, some old, and some that I am sure it would have been
merciful to shoot.

[Illustration]

The buyers and sellers, too, many of them, looked not much better off
than the poor beasts they were bargaining about. There were poor old
men, trying to get a horse or pony for a few pounds, that might drag
about some little wood or coal cart. There were poor men trying to sell
a worn-out beast for two or three pounds, rather than have the greater
loss of killing him. Some of them looked as if poverty and hard times
had hardened them all over; but there were others that I would have
willingly used the last of my strength in serving; poor and shabby, but
kind and humane, with voices that I could trust. There was one tottering
old man that took a great fancy to me, and I to him, but I was not
strong enough--it was an anxious time! Coming from the better part of
the fair, I noticed a man who looked like a gentleman farmer, with a
young boy by his side; he had a broad back and round shoulders, a kind,
ruddy face, and he wore a broad-brimmed hat. When he came up to me and
my companions, he stood still, and gave a pitiful look round upon us. I
saw his eye rest on me; I had still a good mane and tail, which did
something for my appearance. I pricked my ears and looked at him.

"There's a horse, Willie, that has known better days."

"Poor old fellow!" said the boy; "do you think, grandpapa, he was ever a
carriage horse?"

"Oh, yes! my boy," said the farmer, coming closer, "he might have been
anything when he was young; look at his nostrils and his ears, the shape
of his neck and shoulder; there's a deal of breeding about that horse."
He put out his hand and gave me a kind pat on the neck. I put out my
nose in answer to his kindness; the boy stroked my face.

"Poor old fellow! see, grandpapa, how well he understands kindness.
Could not you buy him and make him young again as you did with
Ladybird?"

"My dear boy, I can't make all old horses young; besides, Ladybir